Christmas Eve
by AmeliaFaulks
Summary: Lois and Clark fly home on the red-eye.


**Author's Note: **with the reboot I suppose this could slot into current comics canon. But really it's a general generalized piece set early into the Lois and Clark relationship. Hope you enjoy :).

**Disclaimer: **Clark Kent and Lois Lane don't belong to me, they belong to each other!

...and, subject to legal proceedings with the Siegel/Shuster estates, mostly DC and Warner.

* * *

><p><strong>-Christmas Eve-<strong>

She blinked as she slowly resurfaced to wakefulness. She didn't move. Instead she stayed where she was, hunched against the inadequate lip of the window with her jacket rolled and wedged tight into a pillow and huddled underneath a blanket that she didn't remember having the last time her eyes were open. As her eyelids moved up and down she could feel the lashes brushing on the material and a burning where her cheek was pressing into the protruding edge of a seam, but, for a moment, she was warm and comfortable and content to listen to the quiet of the cabin and beneath that, the steady low-pitched lullaby rumbling of the engines.

Next to her she sensed rather than saw her colleague return to his seat. She roused herself sufficiently to switch sides, teetering her weight right to left beneath the loose tether of the safety belt so she could face the opposite way and see him.

Resting her head on the seat, if she would have stretched over just another couple of inches she could have touched him on his arm with her nose. They were so close she could smell him and he smelled lovely. Clean, like fresh laundry- the same scent as his satisfyingly large and snuggly quilted winter jacket which she realized now she was curled up under and was not, after all, a blanket. Between heavy half-lidded eyes, she waited for him to settle. The cabin was dark, illuminated only by the small guide lights that ran either side of each aisle along the floor. Dotted around, one or two overhead lamps were on while passengers read or poked at laptops. Mostly, around them, people were asleep.

Clark was sat up straighter than usual. Their seats were the very last pair available on the very last row and had been secured only after their original flight had been cancelled and Lois had blackmailed the lady at the check-in desk in Vietnam by waving around a copy of the Planet, pointing in turn between her byline and the airline's countertop, and making the international hand gesture for 'Hatchet job.' She hoped, not for the first time in her life, that that kind of thing was not bad luck around this date in the calendar. Having made their final connection at LAX, they were at the back of the plane, somewhere above the engines, in the corner, and up against a bulkhead, but at least on the last leg home.

Reclining further than an angle just shy of ninety degrees was an impossible luxury and this made Lois quite sure she had never seen her partner sitting this straightbacked- and certainly never with such excellent posture. The journey over to Hanoi had involved three separate flights, and they hadn't had adjoining seats on any of them, but she didn't think she had ever seen him look so uncomfortable either. And that included the time she had coerced him into going undercover as a bellhop and a long rainy night they had spent staking out the second home of a known gang boss from the precipitously high boughs of his neighbor's sprawling chestnut tree.

Even now he was restless, rolling his shoulders, lifting his chin and pressing back against the headrest, trying to find more space where there was none. Finally, not satisfied but giving up, he exhaled a long breath and seemed to relax.

Cuddled to the seat she had a good, close-up view of Clark in profile and she studied him, idly enjoying the novelty and intimacy of the perspective from this vantage point. Those black-framed glasses that dominated his face. Did he ever take them off? Wonderfully thick and healthy-looking hair- with a slight wave which she had never noticed. But too neat and assiduously combed to be considered fashionable. A straight nose and full lips that she found her gaze inexplicably snagging on. But most surprising and most striking, she discovered, was the pleasing and uninterrupted squareness of his jaw. Scruffy stubble covered it and darkened it at the jawline all the way from the sideburns by his ear to the prominence of his chin and served only to underline a specific kind of masculinity that the teenage de Beauvoir-reader in her would have dismissed outright let alone admitted a weakness for. She noted he had undone a second button on his shirt, and she found that her eyes were drawn to the suggestion of collarbone just visible there. An uncensored, groggy thought processed itself that there was nothing about that face that was not agreeable. In fact, he was actually quite handsome. Lois tucked that away for later with the idea that she should tell him sometime. It was Christmas.

Above the muted noise of the engines she whispered. "Hey."

Clark turned his head, smiling down when he saw she was awake. Softly, he said, "Morning."

"Is it?"

Clark nodded.

Lois inhaled a deep breath in through the nostrils as she adjusted into a more upright position. "Sorry," she apologized, reluctantly disrupting her cocoon of warmth and angling her wrist to check her watch. "I just meant to close my eyes for a second."

"It's okay." There was a beat while she maneuvered herself. "You're cute when you snore."

She stopped mid-stretch to shoot him a look that was injured and then reproachful when she saw he was teasing.

Lifting a shoulder, running a thumb underneath the bra strap, she rearranged herself until she was comfortable once more and retracted back under the jacket. She pulled it over her right shoulder and up to her chin. Tucked safely inside, she proffered the collar with her knuckles. "Thanks."

Again, he said nothing, just tugged one corner of his mouth into a polite lopsided smile.

He looked ahead and although they were only the tiniest of movements she observed him continue to fidget in his seat. She whispered, "You okay?"

"Fine."

Remembering, excitement suddenly flared brightly in her eyes and, waking up, the flat of her hand wiped hair from her face, "Hey. Guess what?"

He turned his face back to her.

She told him, "It's our anniversary today."

Clark's brow crumpled.

"Six months."

He gazed at her, and she couldn't really tell what he was thinking but he seemed amused. "I didn't realize you were keeping track."

A broad, unhindered grin that he was clearly and rightly suspicious of broke across her face. Keeping the conversation low, she whispered back, "That was a special day for me, Clark. In so many ways, a turning point." Lois sat up straighter again, comfying herself by keeping the jacket over her legs but tucking it underneath her folded arms, "Until you arrived in my life I had no idea just how much it was lacking in some pretty vital areas;"

Clark's look was expectant and thin.

"the tyrannical-like zeal you bring every time you edit my copy. And the unironic use of expressions like, 'Golly', and, 'Jeepers'."

"This trademark sarcasm being deployed here?" he was trying to tell her.

But she was already enjoying herself too much- "And plaid!" In reverence, she breathed, "All the colors of the rainbow."

"You use it to deflect attention away from the uncomfortable truth."

"What uncomfortable truth?"

"You like it when I get my red pen out."

Admiring his shirt, without pausing she blinked at him assuredly, "Actually, it's much more the plaid."

Clark leaned back, sniffed, and then muttered something that sounded a lot like 'Much more the skin-tight lycra'.

Lois cocked the side of her face to him, "Sorry, you'll have to mumble that into my good ear?"

With one eyebrow raised, cheekily, he baited, "Perhaps you remember the date because it's also the day you happened to meet Superman?"

He was rewarded with a waggling finger scold, "That is your sordid implication, not mine."

"I'm just saying."

She was going to say something back but seeing him place his hands on his thighs to flex out his arms and half-shuffle around in his seat made her stop. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes."

With her third finger she worked out a stubborn piece of sleep from the corner of her eye. "Not queasy or anything?"

Clark frowned. "No."

"A little headachy?"

"No."

"Dizzy?"

"No."

"Sure?"

His expression suggested he was quite sure. "Yes."

In the half-light she was inspecting his face, scanning it, not really listening, "You know, I think I might have some dramamine in my purse?"

Appearing lost, Clark insisted, "I'm okay."

"Because remember the Caribbean cruise ship exposé?"

Brow still lowered right down to the top frame of his glasses, Clark's eyes darted to the side and back. "Yes?"

She dipped her head to him. "You were pretty sick."

They held a look. Then Clark leaned back again. "I ate some bad shellfish."

Her hand flapped open onto the jacket in her lap, "A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Clark-"

"Only you could regard a pirate attack as some kind of career red-letter day."

"A chance for a story, a _front page_ story, pokes its AK-47 in your face, and you missed it."

"You and the big guy seemed to cope."

She ignored him. "The point is- you've got to know yourself, you know? Be aware of your limitations. So you've got a delicate constitution;" eyes clouded with worry, she intoned, "you have to look after yourself."

For a moment he was quiet. Behind the glasses, his eyes were inscrutable but his lips scrunched then rolled into a straight line. "I wasn't sea sick, Lois. I ate some bad shellfish."

Nudging her shoulder, gently she admonished, "Look, if you're prone to these things there's nothing you can do about it. Motion sickness, travel sickness," Lois tapped her temple. "It's a physiological intolerance; like a nut allergy." Open-faced and sincere, she reassured, "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

He was searching her expression. "I'm fine."

The expression on her face said, 'Really?' She gestured pointedly downwards down the length of the aircraft with her head. "Don't skimp on the bathroom trips. If you need to- go. You don't have to sit there, struggling, keeping up a brave face on my account."

Clark followed her gaze out to the aisle that separated their column of seats from the middle rows. Finally catching up with her, he turned back, his frown gone, "Oh, no." He thumbed back that she had misunderstood, "I wasn't skimping, I was stretching my legs." He smiled, squinted his eyes and lifted his eyebrows; "I'm actually not a big fan of flying."

Lois leaned away to look him up and down and realized just how cramped he was. Unable to slouch into a more forgiving position because his knees were already butting into the back of the seat in front, his hands were together in his lap and he was trying not to allow his shoulders to impinge on her personal space any more than they were doing by kind of curling them inwards. Somehow it just accentuated the fact that in comparison to her, his shoulders and arms, the breadth of him, was vast. Paying attention like this, she was caught off guard. She had always viewed Clark as ungainly rather than as a man with physical presence. But at such close quarters it was apparent that her partner could've lined up on a football field and not looked out of place.

"How tall are you?"

"Too tall to fly long-haul coach and remain in any degree of comfort." He smiled at her.

She returned his smile. Then, "Seriously."

Clark tucked his chin, cleared his throat, coughed back, "A hair over six two."

Her eyebrows flicked upwards. "Tall."

He sort of shrugged by way of nothing more than cursory agreement. He nodded past her, to the window. "It's a full moon tonight. See anything?"

She looked too, peering out of the window and into the blackness beyond. "It's a little cloudy." Rubbing another tiny piece of sleep out of her eye with her pinky finger, she commentated for him, "There're little clusters of lights, small towns, I guess." She found her watchface on her wrist, tried working it out. "We must be coming in over- "

"Kansas," he beamed, cheerfully. "Maybe Missouri, by now, depending on the tailwind." He leaned to get an improved view. "Yeah, see, that silver crook over to the west? That must be the river."

"Checked the flight path beforehand, did you?"

He replied, 'Always', and without looking behind her she breathed, "Nerd," even though a childhood spent crossing continents had imbued her with the exact same habit and she was secretly impressed. She heard him chuckle.

"When we start the descent into Met International and we're coming in at twenty-thousand, eighteen thousand feet; if the air's clear you'll be able to see Christmas lights for miles." He paused. More softly he said, "It should be very pretty."

Lois gazed out with him. "I love flying at night." When she turned back around it was to find him fixing her with a tricky look of anticipation. Self-conscious, she frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, too innocent. "...I was waiting for the modifier."

Her head dropped to one side and she dispensed a weary, crescent-eyed, smirk, "Contrary to popular belief, I don't spend all of my free time swooping over the highways and byways of Metropolis with," in an even lower voice, she crouched in, "you-know-who." Her eyes squeezed at the outer edges. "I can't remember the last time we even did something like that." And that was definitely a lie. She pushed up her shoulder and told him, smally and truthfully, "I like flying at night. Everywhere is dark; melted away. The world outside becomes very simple. Reduced. It might as well be just us." She met his gaze, defiance playing on her face.

"'Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.'"

She blinked. "Exactly."

Clark was quiet. "That's very romantic, Lois."

Her lips twitched. "I am romantic."

He rested back. "Anthropologists say a desire for flight is hardwired into human psychology. That it can be traced back to the species' evolution from tree-dwelling primates with an inherent envy for birds soaring free in the sky. That it's a biological imperative."

Lois did not seem convinced. She sparkled at him, "It's more than science, Clark. Flying is the stuff of dreams, it's a metaphor for the human condition. Folklore and mythology are full of flying archetypes; Hermes, Pegasus," her hand lifted and dropped into her lap, "Thor's chariot racing across the sky; the magic carpet; Peter Pan."

A wry smile pulled at one corner of his mouth as he supplied for her, "Tinkerbell. Prancer, Dancer, Rudolf."

She hijacked her own sour-faced exasperation with him when she remembered, "Hey, aren't you going home for the holidays?"

Clark nodded, "Back to Smallville, with my mom."

Lois was frowning, "When?"

He was still nodding, "Today."

Her voice strained, "Are you crazy? Why didn't you say? When?"

His face clouded, "I'll fly back later. It's no problem."

Lois flopped back in her seat. "We haven't slept for three days. We haven't eaten off a plate in three days. We haven't even _seen a plate _in three days. Aren't you tired?"

Unperturbed, Clark went on, "We'll be home for the opening bell, we can check in with work, file the story, I'll get back to my place, unpack, pack, grab a shower. I'll de-jet lag, later. It's fine."

"I wish you'd told me." Her eyes zeroed in and darted between his. "I could've done this on my own, I promise."

"What?" he deadpanned. "A seventy-two hour round trip taking in the delightful sights and sounds of the Vietnamese penal system culminating in an intimate striplit interview with a former LexCorp investment banker and/or alleged securities fraudster? Why let you have all the fun?"

A crooked smile started to appear, "I guess we do tend to land the glamorous assignments." She thought about it. "That prison bleach smell is still in my nostrils."

"I think that was the turkey dinner."

Lois snickered. "Why _do_ we get sent on all the last minute lost causes, anyway?"

Surprised that she didn't know, Clark explained, "Because I speak a smattering of most Indo-Asiatic languages and you have eyes that people trust, that you abuse terribly."

She stifled a smile to interject, "I thought it was because we're the best?"

"That's the second reason."

Her expression turned beatific to ask, "Do you really think that?"

Squinting, thinking, Clark amended, "Maybe the third."

"No. About my eyes?"

"Of course," he confirmed. "You're totally unscrupulous."

She huffed a breath. "Not the part about abusing people's trust. About my eyes?" Her eyes were shining. "You think I have trustworthy eyes?"

He seemed to consider it for a second. "It was one of the first things I thought when I met you."

"Man," she sighed with feeling, staring out, "I feel the worst."

"Why?"

"I _am_ totally unscrupulous."

They were both grinning. "It's a good job you use your powers for good, not evil, then."

Her eyes flicked back to his and when he added, "Mostly," he joined in her under-the-breath snigger.

They were quiet for a moment until Lois glanced up from where she was fiddling with the tag on his jacket zipper. "Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"Do you think we have enough to exonerate him?"

Clark sucked in a breath, "Miracle On 34th Row? D Block?" He looked ahead and sighed. "That would be nice." He shrugged more in acceptance than defeat, "If you get right down to it, it's one man's word against another man's entire legal department of the best advice dirty money can buy."

Lois glanced away and her eyebrows lifted and dropped that he was probably right.

Gently, Clark continued, "We have enough, I think, to ask some tough questions. Luthor obviously went to a lot of trouble to hide the guy away. I guess it depends on LexCorp's lawyers." He lifted his eyebrows, "Maybe they'll be in the holiday spirit?"

They held each other's gazes, rolled their lips, realism refusing to give way. Lois squinted, "Maybe out in time for New Years?"

They smiled at each other. Then Lois reached to pat the top of his right hand. "I could've done this on my own." Clear-eyed and sincere, she kept her hand there, her fingers finding the dips in between his knuckles, "I would've been okay."

Clark nodded, "I know." And she could see that he meant it and why this was so important to her, she couldn't say, she only knew that it desperately was, and that it marked out another difference between this man and about every other guy she'd ever shared page space with.

"And Perry said it was my choice if I had plans." His smile was tentative while he watched her return her hand to her lap. "I wanted to come. I -" he stopped as something crossed his face and an internal filter was engaged. More certain he said, "I like working with you."

But she'd read him. Good, old-fashioned earnestness just rolled off him in waves. She moved her jaw to the side to chew on the edge of her teeth and there was a careful shake of her head, "Swear to God, Kent, if you were any more corny you could add some melted butter and turn yourself into a snack."

Unconcerned Clark sniffed, "Says the woman celebrating our six month anniversary."

Her grin was gleeful as she rocked in her seat.

More soberly, she admitted, "I'm glad you came. Otherwise I might've missed you; I have a Christmas present waiting for you."

His reaction was to say nothing but Lois thought she could detect delight write itself into his expression. "I have a Christmas present for you."

"Good," she said, and for a couple of seconds, the moment hung there, delicately, with neither of them sure what to do with it.

"So," she continued. "Back on the farm, then?"

At his nod she scrunched up the jacket in her arms, "I can imagine it now," she offered, a yearning lilt in her hushed voice, "- a big, open fire crackling in the grate. Stockings, candles, little sprigs of holly decorating the mantelpiece. A red-checkered tablecloth. A big bowl of eggnog. Food everywhere. Glazed ham, roast beef with all the trimmings, parsnips, cranberry sauce."

"Mashed potato."

"Pumpkin pie."

"Whipped cream."

Her eyes closed and a little moan escaped her, "Must be really nice."

"Up before dawn," Clark quietly sang, "out in the dark, the freezing cold. Cleaning the coops, feeding the cows."

Unbowed and flinty, she told him, "Best Christmas I ever had was on a farm." She blinked. "What?"

His head turned side to side, apologetic, "You're full of surprises, today."

She nodded at him with narrowed eyes, "You want to know what your problem is? Your problem is you underestimate me."

"I can assure you, I don't."

Lois sat back and folded her arms. "Winter of eighty-seven. A little village in England. Out in the country- the Cotswolds. You know it?"

Behind his glasses his eyes were twinkling. "Not that well."

"We were a couple of miles from the MoD base where my father was stationed. It snowed on Christmas Eve. Nine inches overnight and Dad couldn't get to work." He caught her with his eyes, "And we were all together. Mom." She faltered, smiled to herself, "That didn't happen a lot. I remember Dad tucking us in to bed that night. He told us if we listened real carefully, we'd hear Santa's sleigh and the reindeer. When he turned out the light and closed the door, we got up and tiptoed to the window. The frame was old and the glass was covered with condensation. We wiped it away and stared out, and Lucy said she thought she heard bells so we listened. I was old enough to know better, you know?" Lois frowned. As if not wanting to disturb the memory, very lightly she said, "But I swear I could."

"Will you see your dad this year?"

Wherever she had gone, Lois was back. She hugged the jacket tighter, turned her head against the seat to look at him. "My sister's. She has everyone over."

"A big family Christmas."

"Mmm."

"That sounds just as nice."

Her look turned skeptical.

"Neither of my parents come from large families," Clark explained. "We never had the whole, big, Christmas thing."

Dark-eyed, Lois said, "I'll trade you."

"Deal." And they shook.

"Collecting a few eggs before breakfast?" She rearranged the jacket between her folded arms, "Please."

"A few _hundred_ eggs."

"Marathon games of Parcheesi, Clark. It requires stamina."

"And it's a four am start." He inclined his head, "You can't hit snooze."

"Don't forget we're an ex-military household. The Parcheesi gets pretty competitive."

"I'm shocked."

She grinned, "There're forfeits. I'm serious!" She pointed, "Last year I had to recite the pledge of allegiance in the style of Mr Magoo."

"It sounds like a lot of fun."

Her eyes flicked up, "I do do a great Magoo." He beamed back at her and she settled, conceding, "I guess it is pretty nice." She lifted her chin, "What about you?"

"My Magoo is terrible, but my Swedish Chef impersonation has received compliments."

She chuckled and he looked delighted. She shook her head that he was an unreconstructed goofball, "What was your best Christmas?"

"You mean apart from right now?"

She waited.

He rubbed the tip of his nose and demurred. "Oh, I don't know."

But she stared at him, wanting to hear an answer.

His hand flapped into his lap and he released a sigh of breath. "Same as you, I guess."

"Don't be ridiculous, we didn't even know each other the winter of eighty-seven."

He rolled his eyes and smirked that she too was very funny. "No- it snowed one year, all night. Very heavy. I was just a little kid but we had to dig out to get to the animals. We missed dinner. But we were all together. Me. Mom. Dad."

His eyes were drawn back to rest on hers. A frown dimpled her forehead but she didn't say anything. They had rubbed up against a shared pain and there was a kind of warmth and comfort in the sense of affinity.

"I don't know," Lois mulled it over. "There's something about the holidays. There's something different in the air, right?"

Fantastically serious, he told her, "Some sources say it's the most wonderful time of the year."

In the same tone, she replied, "Some sources say treetops glisten and children listen."

They grinned. Lois added, "It's magical."

He watched her, "Like flying at night?"

They agreed until their smiles started to fade.

Gazing back out the window, absently Lois asked, "How do you think Superman spends the holidays?"

"Wishing he was with you."

A quick double-take to check whether she was being mocked again revealed she was not. Clark offered up a slow crumpled smile. "Wild guess."

"Do you think he celebrates it?"

"Christmas?" Clark seemed amused. "Sure. Why wouldn't he?"

Lois hadn't really thought about it. "I don't know? It's a religious holiday." In her lap, her hands opened, "He might find it all a little ...parochial."

"It's a time of year that advocates peace and goodwill. I'd doubt liturgy comes into it."

Lois hummed. "Do you think he spends it alone?"

Clark blinked a couple of times before answering. "I'm sure he tries to make the most of a quieter time."

"It's too bad," Lois decided.

"What is?"

Her hand tightened into a fist and she hung it briefly in the air. "If I could just recruit him to Brookfield Heights, just for the evening."

"To your sister's?"

"Mmm. After dinner. About six, six-thirty, Christmas Day." Her lips curled into a toothy smile, "You know he would _kick ass_ at Parcheesi."

**Merry Christmas**


End file.
